


My Very Best Friend

by Lauralot



Series: This Is the World Now [2]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Abuse of Authority, Blood, Brainwashing, Gen, Manipulation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-17
Updated: 2014-11-17
Packaged: 2018-02-25 17:41:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,588
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2630585
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lauralot/pseuds/Lauralot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There are two types of friends: the kind who let you fall, and the kind who save your life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	My Very Best Friend

Water is dripping onto the floor.

The Soldier looks down to confirm this. There is water pooling on the tile. The floor is very clean where the Soldier is not standing. The Soldier is not very clean because he was doing work for the Secretary. There was blood and then rain and now both are dripping off of his boots, leaving faintly pink puddles on the very clean floor.

He is lying in snow and there is pink around him: red from where his arm should be and clear when heat leeches out of his broken body and turns the ice wet. The colors mingle and run over him. It's cold and his teeth rattle and he's drowning. Not in the red or clear or pink, but from the hurt.

There's a sharp and deep, earthy scent and the Soldier is out of the snow and back on the floor. His boots are reflected in the water and on the tile. He stares at them, grounding himself. The Secretary doesn't like it when the Soldier goes away, losing himself in dreams. If he goes for too long of a stretch it means either needles or electricity. And pain. Always pain. He memorizes where his feet are and turns to the scent.

The Secretary holds a small glass in one hand with an amber liquid inside. The other hand holds a decanter with more of the same liquid. The drink has a deep smell, like wood. The Secretary is smiling. His face has the same tinge as the water around the Soldier's boots.

The Soldier tries to remember if he's given a mission report yet. He tries to remember what his voice sounds like.

"Come here," the Secretary says.

The Soldier is not in the Secretary's kitchen now, dripping onto the floor. He is in an office, a very clean one. The walls are glass and water runs down them. It is dark.

"Come here," the Secretary says, motioning. He speaks English. They are in America. They arrived by plane earlier, before it was dark. The Soldier does not think he has ever been to America before.

"It's all right," says the Secretary, as the Soldier approaches the window. "I won't let you fall."

There are lights in the streets below, in many colors. They make the water sliding down the glass sparkle. Sometimes he sees lights like that when the electricity sparks through his head. He prefers these lights, he thinks. They don't hurt.

The Secretary's hand is on his shoulder. "Look," he says, so the Soldier stops blinking, staring at the lights. "We're going to change the world, the two of us. That fool Lukin didn't realize what he had. What a damn waste."

Lukin is the General's name. The Soldier used to belong to the General until maybe this morning. The General would pinch the Soldier's face and smile at him in a way that showed all the man's teeth. The Soldier thinks he prefers the Secretary. The Secretary's hands do not hurt.

"He didn't know what he had either." The Secretary's voice goes low. The Soldier doesn't know whom he is referring to. "He'd never have let you fall if he did." And the Secretary's hand is tracing the length of the Soldier's shoulder, brushing up his neck, turning his head until their eyes meet. "You're safe now. And we're going to save the world. Do you understand?"

"We're going to save the world," the Soldier repeats.

That earns a smile. He prefers the Secretary's smile to the General's. "I think you and I are going to be the best of friends."

Then the Secretary's hand is back on his shoulder and they are back in the kitchen. "Come on," he says, and he is guiding the Soldier off of the tile and onto hardwood. He is still smiling. He doesn't seem to mind the mess the Soldier is leaving. For a few seconds at a time, he laughs. He is still carrying the glass and decanter with the hand not on the Soldier; sometimes they clink together and more liquid splashes on the floor.

The Secretary stops steering him when they are back on tile, this time in a bathroom. The light comes on. The Soldier's reflection is very wet with blood and water. The Secretary pulls the mask from the Soldier's face, and for a second there's a clear line between the pinkish grime and clean skin. But then it drips down and he is stained all over.

"You're a mess," the Secretary says, but he's still smiling. He guides the Soldier to sit on the edge of the bath, then takes a washcloth, white and neatly folded, and wets it in the sink before scrubbing at the Soldier's skin. "You're such a mess. What would you do without me?"

 _Sleep,_ the Soldier thinks, because he is never conscious unless the Secretary needs him. He isn't sure he can wake without the Secretary there to call him from the ice.

The washcloth is in one of the Secretary's hands and the glass is in the other. He laughs again. "They found him." The Secretary speaks like it's a secret. "Frozen. Just like you." He shakes his head, trails a finger down the bridge of the Soldier's nose and stops at the tip. "Just like you."

The Soldier does not move. The Secretary holds that position, taps his finger once, and then draws his hand away.

"Everyone's losing their minds." When the Secretary laughs this time, it is sharp as the scent of the liquid in his glass. "Now that their savior's come back to them. But you and I know better, don't we?"

His hand coils through the Soldier's hair then, tugging just enough for their eyes to meet. "You and I know he's already lost."

The hand is gone as quickly as it was there, and the Secretary has his leg, pulling at his bootlaces. "Tell me," he says. His voice is low, fast. "Tell me that I'm better."

"You're better," says the Soldier immediately, and _ah,_ that's what his voice sounds like.

The Secretary tugs off that boot and starts on the laces of the other. "We're saving the world. Say it."

"We're saving the world."

"Tell me he let you fall. Tell me I'm better."

"He let me fall," says the Soldier. His socks are stripped away next. They were stained and the skin beneath them is soaking. He is, as the Secretary said, a mess. "You're better."

The Secretary turns the water on, guiding the Soldier's legs beneath the faucet. Rivulets of pink run from his skin and pant legs, diluting as they swirl around the drain. "Again," he says. "Say it again."

His hands are on the Soldier's feet and the Soldier isn't in a bathroom. He's in a chair. The air is thick with incense and the man kneeling before him is not the Secretary. He wipes at the Soldier's skin with a towel before kissing the top of one foot. There is white around the man's throat.

 _Unless one is born of water and spirit,_ the Soldier thinks without knowing where the words come from, _he cannot enter the kingdom of God._

"Again," the Secretary commands, shaking the Soldier's ankle. They are in the bathroom. "I didn't tell you to be quiet."

There's so much filth circling the bath. And the Secretary's hands are on him, unflinching. Whenever the Secretary wakes him, there is water. There is so much water, cold and numbing, preserving him from whatever stain must have been washed away in his sleep.

"You saved me," he says. It's true. It wasn't what he was meant to say, but it's true, and the Secretary only smiles. "He let me fall. You're better. We're saving the world. He let me fall. You saved me. You're better. We're saving the world."

The words are an adoration and a reparation. He'd fallen. The Secretary has saved him. The Secretary does not turn away even when the Soldier is so horribly stained. "He let me fall," the Soldier says. "You saved me. You're better. We're saving the world."

He says it until his voice, rough and unaccustomed to speaking, fails him. Even then the Secretary does not punish or leave. He only smiles and holds his glass up to the Soldier's lips. It's bitter but the Soldier drinks eagerly. It's a covenant. It's affection. He isn't worthy but the Secretary provides it regardless and the Soldier's eyes sting.

The Soldier isn't in the bathroom now. He's in a hospital room.

They recovered him from the Smithsonian. They say the Secretary is dead. They say that the Soldier is safe and human and will never have to go back to HYDRA. They say that the man by his bedside, the Captain that the Soldier pulled from the water, is his best friend.

The Soldier lowers the bottle he was drinking from. The substance within is thick and chalky and meant to be good for him. He stares at the Captain.

"We fought together," he says. "In the war." He knows this because of the pictures and films in the Smithsonian, and because he almost remembers.

"Yeah," says the Captain. He smiles a little. "Yeah, we did."

The Soldier tilts his head. "But you let me fall." Why is the Captain so happy at his return if he allowed him to slip away?

The Captain looks down and he nods. He is quiet.

Water is dripping onto the floor.

**Author's Note:**

> When the Winter Soldier remembers having his feet washed, he is remembering Holy Thursday, the Thursday before Easter. Traditionally, on this day, Catholic masses include a foot washing ritual. Bucky Barnes is Catholic.
> 
> The Bible verse that the Soldier half remembers is John 3:5: "Jesus answered, "Truly, truly, I say to you, unless one is born of water and the Spirit he cannot enter into the kingdom of God."


End file.
